Murder at the Old Vicarage Page 5

  ‘Trouble with this job,’ Lloyd said, holding the door open, ‘is that you know your colleagues better than your family sometimes.’

  ‘Or they know you better,’ Jack said, as they went out into the dark, slushy car park. ‘I mean, there’s things you can’t talk about to your family – not even your wife. Things they wouldn’t thank you for talking about.’

  ‘Things they wouldn’t understand if you did,’ Lloyd said, unlocking the passenger door. Little things. Minor irritations, minor triumphs, shared with people to whom they did not have to be explained.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jack, mind-reading, as he often did. ‘Like that bloody book.’

  Lloyd laughed. The Super’s ideas of efficiency weren’t meeting with general approval. The book was instituted so that the desk sergeant could see at a glance . . . Lloyd couldn’t quite remember what. ‘Like that bloody book,’ he agreed.

  ‘Still,’ Jack said, arranging his legs more comfortably. ‘You’ve got all that sorted out, haven’t you?’

  ‘The book?’ asked Lloyd, puzzled.

  ‘The problem.’

  Oh. Lloyd didn’t answer, as he negotiated the slippery car park entrance. Snow began to fall again, and he sighed.

  ‘You and Judy Hill,’ Jack said, not one to beat about the bush for ever, if the birds didn’t rise. Stick the gun in and shoot them there.

  ‘I thought I was overdue for a lecture,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I’m not lecturing you – just pointing out that it’s not very clever.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Sergeant.’ He leant slightly on the rank.

  ‘Don’t try that with me,’ Jack warned. ‘There are promotions in the wind – Barton’s getting a shake-up in the new year.’

  Jack was ten years older than Lloyd, but he behaved as if he were old enough to be his father. It was Jack, a sergeant at twenty-seven, who had interested Lloyd in making the police his career. Jack himself had never tried to get further than sergeant, having found his niche.

  Lloyd switched on the windscreen wipers. ‘I’m not all that ambitious, Jack,’ he said.

  ‘And Judy? Is she not ambitious either?’

  Lloyd had never really thought about it.

  ‘Look, Lloyd. I don’t know how serious it is – I’m just saying watch your step, that’s all. You’ve all but got your promotion – they’ll come down on her harder than they will on you.’

  ‘It’s not against the bloody law!’ It wasn’t even happening at the moment. He’d barely even seen Judy out of working hours since Michael became desk-bound.

  ‘If her husband took it into his head to complain . . .’ Jack said, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  ‘So what?’ said Lloyd. ‘What do you think they’d do, Jack? Break her on the wheel? She’d get shifted to another station, that’s all.’

  ‘As sergeant. No promotion – and it’s hard enough for women to make inspector without having the reputation of—’

  The car swerved slightly as Lloyd took his eyes off the road. ‘She has not got a reputation!’ he shouted.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It would be a black mark, that’s all. One that a woman can’t afford in this job.’

  ‘When did you get Women’s Lib?’ Lloyd muttered, running the window down to check for traffic.

  ‘She’s a nice girl – and she’s good. I’d like to see her get on.’

  Lloyd pulled up outside Jack’s house, and Jack undid his seat-belt, but he didn’t get out. He turned to Lloyd. ‘If it’s just a fling, she’s risking more than you. That’s all I’m saying.’

  Lloyd sighed. ‘It’s not really like that,’ he said. ‘Judy and I go way back. To before she was married.’

  Jack raised his eyebrows, ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said.

  ‘No. You don’t know everything, O Wise Grey-haired One.’

  ‘Sorry. None of my business,’ he said, as he got out.

  ‘No. But I’ll pass your message on.’

  ‘Right.’ Jack leant back into the car. ‘Come whenever you like tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Lunch will be at about two-thirty.’

  ‘Smashing. Thanks, Jack – oh, and . . .’ He smiled. ‘Thanks for the warning.’

  It was after eleven by the time he got to the flat, and well past midnight by the time he had the little tree under control. He picked the pine-needles from his sweater, and strung the lights through the branches. Then he solemnly brought the little present from the bedroom, and took out the white nylon ribbon. With considerable lack of skill, he finally persuaded it into a bow, and snipped the ends until it looked more or less even. He swept the pieces of ribbon into the big empty ashtray that only Judy ever used, and switched on the tree lights.

  Standing back to admire his handiwork, he wondered if Judy wanted to be a DI in Barton.

  Michael’s mouth brushed her neck, beginning its comfortably predictable quest, and Judy turned towards him, responding to the familiar overtures almost without conscious thought. She frowned, puzzled, as he drew away from her.

  ‘What’s the point?’ he said.

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘It’s no good.’

  ‘How do you know? We haven’t done anything yet.’

  He swung his legs out of bed, and sat with his back to her. ‘Would you have noticed if we had?’ he asked.

  ‘Michael! That’s not fair.’

  ‘No?’ His shoulders hunched slightly. ‘It’s all so—’ he began, and abandoned it. ‘You were on automatic bloody pilot,’ he said.

  The protest died on her lips as she acknowledged the truth of his complaint. ‘Sorry,’ she said, touching his shoulder. He didn’t respond, and she took her hand away. ‘Come on, Michael,’ she said. ‘What do you expect? We’ve been married too long for—’

  ‘For what? A simulation of some interest in the proceedings?’

  ‘I wish you’d get back into bed,’ Judy complained. ‘It’s freezing.’

  ‘I don’t expect passion,’ he went on.

  ‘We were hardly at the passionate stage, were we?’ Judy said.

  ‘We never have been,’ he said, turning to look at her. ‘But there used to be some enthusiasm. Not now.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘Now, it’s a way of passing the time. Like doing a crossword, but without the emotional involvement.’

  ‘Are you saying that’s just me?’ she asked hotly.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ he said urgently. ‘They’re just across the landing!’

  ‘I will not keep my voice down! Our marriage may not be anything to write home about – but lack of emotional involvement is your speciality, not mine!’

  He looked away again. ‘I’m sorry if I bore you,’ he said.

  Judy frowned. ‘You don’t bore me,’ she said. ‘Are you bored? Is that what it is?’ She sat up, and smiled. ‘Is it unnatural practices time?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  She lay back on the pillow. ‘What’s all this leading up to, Michael?’ she asked.

  Did he know about her and Lloyd? She was surprised to find a cold pool of dread beginning to form. Not guilt, she noted dispassionately. Just panic at being found out before she was ready. But it couldn’t be that. Michael must have decided long ago to push any suspicions about her and Lloyd to the back of his mind, and leave them there. So why would it bother him now, when she wasn’t even seeing Lloyd?

  ‘Do you want to do something?’ she asked. ‘Tell me. The worst I can do is say no.’

  ‘There is something I’d like us to do,’ he muttered, only just loudly enough for her to hear. He looked over his shoulder at her.

  Judy waited, ready for anything.

  ‘I’d like us to have a baby.’

  Almost anything. She felt as though the world had stopped, as she stared back at him, at the eyes no longer bleak now that he had unburdened himself.

  ‘It’s not such an unnatural practice,’ he said.

  A baby had no place in Judy’s scheme of things, if she had a sch
eme of things. Life was complicated enough without that. ‘Why?’ was all she could ask, when she found her voice.

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not? My God, she could give him a dozen reasons.

  ‘You like babies, don’t you?’ he asked, the words incongruous coming from him, from Michael, from room-at-the-top Michael.

  ‘I have a marginally higher opinion of them than Herod,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, for—’ He flopped on to his back. ‘You agreed we’d talk about it one day,’ he said.

  ‘Did I?’ She couldn’t imagine under what circumstances. ‘So, we’re talking about it.’ Now, she really was on automatic pilot. Suitable words were filling up the spaces, while her mind raced through the impossibility of it all.

  ‘I’m talking about it,’ Michael said. ‘You’re doing one-liners.’

  ‘When did I?’ she asked, suddenly galvanised into life. ‘You’ve never shown the slightest interest in starting a family.’ Her eyes widened as she realised. ‘It’s your mother, isn’t it?’ she said angrily. ‘It’s your mother who wants us to have a baby!’

  ‘Not so loud,’ he said again. ‘Yes, all right, she’s mentioned it. She wants a grandchild – that’s not unnatural either.’

  ‘Well, tell her I’m sorry, but it just isn’t convenient.’

  ‘We can’t wait for ever.’

  ‘What’s this wait? I’m not waiting for anything.’

  Michael sat up. ‘But this is when we should start a family,’ he said. ‘I’m not flying half-way round the world any more. We’ve got this house. It’s time we put down roots.’

  Judy’s mouth fell open. ‘You and me?’ she said. ‘Roots?’

  ‘Why not you and me?’

  ‘Because we live separate lives,’ she said.

  ‘But we’ve been apart,’ Michael argued. ‘We’re not apart now.’ He lay back. ‘People expect someone in my position to be a family man,’ he said.

  ‘I thought I’d heard it all, Michael,’ Judy said wearily.

  ‘Will you think about it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘But that’s what marriage is for,’ he protested.

  ‘Not our marriage.’

  ‘What’s wrong with our marriage? We’ve stayed together ten years,’ Michael persisted.

  Judy sat back. ‘We’ve stayed together,’ she said, ‘because it’s convenient. You married me because I had a career of my own, and I wouldn’t be hanging on to your coat-tails. Because I wouldn’t complain about your being away half the year, and I wouldn’t ask too many questions when you got back. Because being married was a desirable plus on your CV – like children, presumably. That’s why you married me.’

  He didn’t deny it. ‘Why did you marry me, Judy?’ he asked.

  Because she couldn’t have Lloyd. ‘For all the wrong reasons,’ she said.

  The bedside phone rang, making them both jump.

  ‘Half past one,’ Michael said. ‘I expect it’s for you.’

  Judy picked it up.

  ‘Judy?’ Lloyd said. ‘Sorry, but you’re needed; we’ve got a murder.’

  Chapter Three

  Lloyd waved back as Judy appeared at the window. A few moments later she came down the path, stopping at her own car and taking something out. Then she joined him, bringing with her a blast of freezing air.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I wasn’t being funny.’

  She looked apologetic. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she responded belatedly, handing him a heavy, rectangular parcel. ‘I was going to come in this morning,’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t.’

  He smiled, and put it on the back seat. ‘Yours is at home,’ he said, as the car bumped over snow already freezing now that the wind had dropped.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Judy asked, her voice flat and uninterested.

  ‘Byford village.’

  ‘I thought the road was still blocked,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘We’ve got our own personal snow-plough.’ Judy didn’t seem as impressed as he had been.

  ‘Are we going to be first there?’ she asked, with a sigh in her voice.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s a village bobby these days. I expect he’s coping.’ He glanced at her, but it was too dark to see.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘What sort of murder is it?’ she asked, ignoring him.

  ‘Domestic.’

  She groaned.

  ‘They have their advantages,’ he pointed out. ‘No incident rooms, no house-to-house – no breaking it to the relatives since they were probably all there at the time.’ Still no reaction. ‘That’s why I had to get you,’ he said wickedly. ‘Domestics need a woman’s touch.’

  But not even that elicited a response from Judy. There was something wrong. But then, he thought, she had been dragged out at two o’clock on Christmas morning. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  She hadn’t even asked for details, and he had been looking forward to imparting them.

  ‘One man dead,’ he said. ‘That’s all I know. But you’ll never guess where it happened.’

  No response. Not even irritation. He soldiered on. ‘The vicarage, would you believe? Our very own Murder at the Vicarage.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Murder at the Vic—’ He sighed. ‘Of course, you’re not an Agatha Christie fan, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Vicarages, snow-bound villages,’ he said, with a grin. ‘With any luck we’ll find a retired Indian Army colonel, a gigolo, a faintly sinister Austrian professor, and an old lady who’ll sort it all out for us.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Are you listening to anything I’m saying?’

  ‘I didn’t think you were saying anything important,’ she said, then immediately repented. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Don’t take any notice of me.’

  Ahead, Lloyd could see the yellow flashes from the snow-plough. ‘We’d better let him get further away,’ he said, pulling the car up. He waited to see if she would talk to him, but she didn’t.

  ‘Someone is head-hunting you, if my little bird’s got it right,’ he said.

  She turned to look at him, at least. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Moves afoot in Barton. Coming up in the new year, I’m told. But – there’s a but.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘But your relationship with me could rock the boat.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘What’s it got to do with anyone else? We wouldn’t even be working together any more.’

  ‘It shouldn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Unless Michael complains about me.’ Despite his dismissal of the consequences, Lloyd knew that Jack was right.

  ‘Michael doesn’t know,’ she said.

  ‘Can you be sure?’ Lloyd asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If he did, he’d have packed his bags by now.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Or mine,’ she added.

  ‘Suppose he finds out?’

  ‘Michael won’t complain,’ she said. ‘That would be regarded as making an exhibition of himself. Michael doesn’t do that.’

  ‘So you’ll go after it?’

  ‘Let’s wait until it’s officially there to be gone after, shall we?’ she said.

  The yellow light had slowly moved over Lloyd’s horizon, and he set off again, through the moonscape. Following yonder star. He smiled, remembering how he used to long for it to snow at Christmas, and it never did. Christmas used to be fun. ‘I can never remember,’ he quoted, ‘if it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve, or twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.’

  ‘Dylan Thomas,’ she said.

  ‘See?’ he said. ‘I’ve taught you something.’ Judy’s lack of soul was something about which he complained, but which pleased him, really. It gave him something to work on. ‘Unless it was a guess,’ he added.

  ‘A Child’s Christmas in Wales,’ she said, and he could tell that she was smiling at last.

 
He wound down the window as they approached the all-conquering snow-plough.

  ‘All clear ahead,’ a voice shouted. ‘For now. You might not get out again, though.’

  ‘And a merry Christmas to you,’ Lloyd shouted back, and his voice sounded dead, in all that high-piled insulation.

  A chorus of unsuspected voices called season’s greetings. Judy behaved as though they weren’t there. Lloyd frowned. No point in asking what was wrong, not while she was in this mood.

  A lone police car sat outside the vicarage, and a young constable approached as they got out of the car.

  ‘Chief Inspector Lloyd?’

  ‘Yes – this is Sergeant Hill,’ he said, waving a hand at Judy.

  The constable nodded. ‘Parks, sir,’ he said. He stamped his feet.

  Lloyd smiled. ‘Parky by name . . .?’ he said.

  The constable smiled, and Lloyd was truly grateful to him, after the hard time Judy was giving him. ‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s gone on here, then?’

  Constable Parks led them up on to the porch steps, where he seemed to regard it as warmer. ‘The dead man’s called Graham Elstow,’ he said. ‘He’s been battered to death with a poker.’

  Lloyd groaned, and exchanged glances with Judy, who looked a little apprehensive.

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ said Parks, sympathetically. ‘There are three other people in the house. George Wheeler – he’s the vicar, sir. His wife Marian, and daughter Joanna – that’s Elstow’s wife. She identified the body, sir.’ He rubbed cold hands together. ‘They reckon it happened while they were out, and Elstow was in the house on his own.’

  ‘But you don’t?’ Lloyd asked, hearing the disparagement.

  ‘The daughter’s been beaten quite badly, sir. By her husband, I believe.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Judy.

  ‘It’s not my fault, Sergeant.’ His breath streamed out as he turned to her, the vapour caught in the light from the door.